Untameable
by gellis24
Summary: All Florence Fenton wants is to escape the demons of her past, but when she has to return to Small Heath, she's confronted with it head-on. It takes a lot for feisty Flo to back down, even when the Shelby's are part of the past she has been trying to escape from. [Rated M for future chapters]
1. Part 1

The sound of Florence's boots echoed through the quiet streets as she bounded along quickly, not wanting to be out in the cold for longer than she needed to be. She wrapped her coat around herself tightly before tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears and turning down a side street. The deathly quiet made her feel uncomfortable, like something was about to happen – Florence had a difficult time of it over the past few years, which put her on edge a lot. She was positive, however, that it wasn't comparable to what the men that were waking up to the new day in the houses surrounding her were experiencing.

The war had been tough on everyone. Luckily, her father wasn't fit to fight but that didn't mean his business wasn't affected. She regretted leaving him alone during the war, having stayed in London to assist with the war effort, but she couldn't face going back to Birmingham after what had happened. The last time she had walked these streets she was sixteen, an innocent and bashful girl, she left a year before the war began. It had been six years, and now at twenty-two she definitely wasn't the girl she used to be. Unrecognisable as the woman she had grown into, Florence preferred it that way. She swiftly turned down a side street heading towards her father's house, excited to finally be reunited with the first man she ever loved.

Little did Florence know, one of the early risers of Small Heath was watching from a window as she rushed from one end of the street to the other. Thomas Shelby recognised Flo Fenton immediately – anyone who was familiar with her would know that wild auburn hair from a mile off. He hadn't seen the woman since before the war, and wasn't expecting to see her any time soon. He made a mental note to stop by at The Garrison later that morning and reintroduce himself.

Miss Fenton reminded him of his childhood; she had grown up playing in the street with his younger brother and sister, and she had spent many evenings and rainy days in the house with the two of them causing trouble. Tommy had a feeling she would go wild, growing up without a mother-figure to guide her, and he was right when she started to run rings around Harry, sneaking out of the house all hours of the night and making him sick with worry. As she grew into a young woman, he advised his younger brother and sister against spending time with her. The slight fifteen-year-old had tried to seduce him on multiple occasions, despite their seven-year age difference, though he wasn't having any of it out of pity for Harry. He didn't want John to be misled though – the teenager would fuck anything that was ready and willing. And now here she was, a grown woman, no doubt back to cause more trouble than she was worth.

The man sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. "Fuckin' women", he scoffed, before heading downstairs.

* * *

Harry was shocked to see his daughter waiting outside the doors of The Garrison when he went to open up that morning. Last time he saw her was a year ago when the war ended, and he thought she was making a life for herself in London. He had worried about her a lot, being a young single girl in the big city on her own, but he knew she was a tough girl who had been through a lot; she wouldn't let anyone step on her toes.

When she saw her father approaching, Florence beamed up at him, dropping her bags to the floor and rushing to greet him.

"Hello, Dad. Thought I would surprise you." She exclaimed, before the two embraced in the street. His daughter may have been his biggest worry but she was also Harry's pride and joy, and he loved her so.

Chuckling, Harry held her face in his hands, observing her closely. "You're a nightmare, you know that, Flo? A bloody nightmare."

Harry let go of her and picked up her bags, leading her inside the pub. "It's nice to see you too, Dad!" She shouted from behind him.

"So, how long you planning on staying, love?" He questioned his daughter as he dropped her bags down behind the bar.

Flo took a deep breath. "I'm back, Dad. I think I'm ready to come back for good.", she nodded, her hazel eyes wide as she smiled at him.

Harry shook his head at his daughter, not only in admiration but also with fear. His little Flo had been through so much in her life already, and to see so much hope in the beautiful young woman standing before him struck him – he knew deep down that she would never be truly ready to come home to the life she had left behind.

"Are you sure about this, Flo? Have you really thought about it?"

"'Course I have, Dad. My time's run its course in London, there's nothing left for me there. I've got a good feeling about this," she sighed, glancing around the pub, "Thought I could come and help you out here for a while, till I find myself a job. Maybe stay in the flat above the pub? I know it's been empty for a while now, I'm used to living on my own and I wouldn't want to invade on you and Lucy."

"Okay, Flo, but we'll have to speak to the Shelby's about it first, alri-"

Flo rolled her eyes at the mention of the Shelbys. "It's fine, I can deal with the fucking Shelby's myself."

* * *

Flo spent the rest of the morning in the pub with her Dad, restocking the bar and cleaning up for when it opened at eleven. She worked quietly alongside Harry; the two didn't have much to say to each other. Harry had been kept informed of her situation through the many letters they had exchanged over the years and he knew her well enough to know not to ask her too many questions. In her time away from Birmingham Flo had become a very private girl, and he respected that. After a couple of hours of preparing for opening, Flo was the one to go ahead and unbolt the doors. She silently hoped that too many of the customers wouldn't recognise her – from working in the war office in London she knew that a large proportion of Small Heath's soldiers and former regulars at The Garrison had been killed in action, however there were a few survivors that she didn't feel like being confronted with while she was still settling in.

After unbolting the doors, she took a few minutes in the back room behind the bar. Having been on her own for so long, Flo had gotten used to having a lot of time to herself and it would take some getting used to being back in the bustle of a well-socialised community. Pondering over this thought and trying not to let her mind drift to darker places, she pulled the pins from her hair and let her auburn curls fall, running her fingers through them absentmindedly. Taking the piece of cloth tied around her wrist she pulled her hair back messily behind her head, before grabbing an apron from the hook behind the door and tying it around her waist. She took a deep breath before opening the entering the bar.

There she was confronted with a familiar face through a cloud of smoke, along with a bustling pub, the workers coming for their first drink of the day. Business had really picked up since the war had ended.

Flo locked eyes with the man sitting in front of the bar, recognising the piercing blue from her time as a teenager in Small Heath, but something behind them had changed. They were cold and emotionless; Tommy Shelby had witnessed things she could never imagine.

"Miss Fenton, I wasn't expecting you." The low, gruff voice of the man in front of her greeted her.

Flo took a step towards him from behind the bar, her head held high and unwavering. "I would say that I wasn't really expecting you either, Mr Shelby, but it looks like times haven't changed 'round here since I've been gone."

She was expecting a reaction of some sort, a laugh maybe, but she watched him inhale his cigarette deeply, his eyes unresponsive.

"Times have definitely changed." There was something in his voice, maybe he was threatening her, but that didn't stop Flo from sliding her hand across the bar and taking his box of cigarettes from in front of him, helping herself. Taking a match from behind the bar, she lit it swiftly and didn't hesitate in removing her apron and walking around the bar to occupy the seat next to him.

"You look different, Flo. London changed you, has it?"

"Something like that."

Tommy turned to look at her, his eyes raking over her quickly. She definitely looked different to when he last knew her, with her wide hips and her face that looked as if it she come upon hard times in the years she had been away.

"How many kids you got?" Flo was taken aback by his abrupt question.

"Fuck off, Tommy. I haven't got any. And I don't see how that's any of your business anyway."

"How long you planning on staying here, then?"

"However long I want. Again, I don't see how that's any of your business."

Flo was fast becoming irritated by his questioning, so she was glad when the door opened and another man she recognised entered the pub. Finishing her cigarette, Flo moved to greet him.

"Freddie Thorne. You bastard." She said with a smile, not forgetting about Tommy lingering behind her. The smile was reciprocated as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he swung her around, a grin present on his face.

"Little Florence Fenton. Where've you been hiding?" He placed her down, looking her up and down like Tommy did except she caught Freddie's wandering eyes. "Well, not so little anymore, are you, girl?"

"Bloody charming as usual." She shook her head at the man, before moving to continue her work behind the bar, leaving the two men to talk. Flo tried to catch Tommy's eye as she turned but still got that unresponsive gaze.

* * *

After assisting her Dad for a few hours, Harry let Flo take a break before the evening rush started. She took advantage of this to refamiliarize herself with the streets of Small Heath and to pick some food up from the market; she realised she hadn't eaten since the previous evening. Pacing the cracked pavements confidently, Flo was a sight for sore eyes and she knew it. In her bottle green dress clinging to her figure and complimenting her auburn locks, she knew that she would turn heads. In a place like London she would often try to hide herself, aware that there were men stalking the streets searching for the likes of her, but in a place like this Flo felt safe. She knew that even after all these years the Peaky Blinders would still have a soft spot for her; they would keep her safe.

Flo giggled as she weaved in and out of the children playing barefoot in the street, her basket filled with food in one hand and a cigarette in the other as she headed back to The Garrison to relieve her father. She stopped in her tracks when she heard that voice she was once so familiar with call out to her.

"Flo?"

Flo looked up, her smile dropping as she saw John Shelby on the pavement in front of her, his older brother Arthur not far behind. She didn't bother to respond as she turned swiftly on her heel and began walking briskly in the other direction, but she knew that he was following her. Flo and John had history, and she knew it was a history he had never let go of. She, on the other hand, had moved on a long time ago. She had to, to stop herself from going mad.

As she turned down a side street she felt a hand grab her wrist, pinning her against the wall in one quick motion.

"Flo, what are you doing? I just want to talk to you. It's been fucking years. " His eyes bore into hers without shame, and she could feel his breath against her face. Unlike Tommy, his eyes hadn't changed so much. Flo noted that there was a sadness there, but there was still a cheeky glint somewhere. Not all was lost.

She shook her head at the man, shaking his hands from her and giving him a light push to the shoulders. "John, there's nothing to talk about. Leave me alone." She responded, her tone seething.

He didn't need to be told twice by the woman he once so admired, releasing her from his grip and watching her walk away. He joined his brother again, defeated, but Arthur just smirked at him and let out a low chuckle. "You used to fuck her, didn't you? Going back for more?"

John could only look at him in disgust and shake his head. "Fuck you, man." He turned, leaving Arthur to walk on his own.

"Oi, John-Boy! Where the fuck do you think you're going? We've got business to attend to..." The last thing John wanted to think about now was business.


	2. Part 2

Florence turned in early that night, the stress of the day exhausting her beyond explanation. She wouldn't admit it to her dad, but even though she had only been there for one day Small Heath had already drained her. It didn't take her long to settle into the small room above the pub; although it hadn't been lived in for a while it was enough for her. It was furnished simply but it was enough, with there being a bathtub and a small stove. Florence expected she could live here comfortably for a while. She placed her bags down, and finding a pan in one of the cupboards she started boiling some water for a bath. Unpacking could wait until tomorrow.

Downstairs, the pub was bustling with activity, the men coming in to drown after a long day's work. It was busy, but nothing Harry couldn't handle on his own. He took comfort in the pouring, mopping, talking that came with the job; he'd always been good with words, and although he was a laidback, mellow man, he knew he could talk his way out of anything. He was aware that was one of the main things his only daughter had learned from him. Florence was the spitting image of her mother, a woman whose face he hadn't seen in over fifteen years, and who it still pained him to think of. His childhood sweetheart who he would have gone to the ends of the earth for, and who he couldn't protect from the disease and squalor that surrounded them in Small Heath. It would take his breath away sometimes when Flo would throw her head back in fits of laughter, and he would see his late wife sitting before him. He took comfort in the fact that she lived on through her.

Harry was dragged from his moment of reminiscing ironically by a sneering voice. "Oi, Harry. I was looking forward to seeing that pretty little girl of yours – well, from what I've been hearing today, she's not a little girl anymore." The man smirked at him, earning a few chuckles from the other men surrounding him.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. "Look, if you've got anything to say about my girl, you're not welcome here anymore." The man scoffed and looked him up and down. "I'm a paying customer, aren-".

The crude man was interrupted before he could go any further. "This man bothering you, Harry?" Tommy's low voice echoed across the bar, staring daggers at the man from under his flat cap. He hadn't noticed Tommy slip through the doors, but the pub grew quiet as Tommy stood up and moved towards the man. "How about you go and have a drink somewhere else from now on, eh?" Although Tommy spoke calmly, the man looked around frantically at his friends, but they all turned a blind eye.

"Look, I don't-"

Tommy grabbed him by the throat, the razor blade in the peak of his hat glinting visibly. "Wasn't a question. Get the fuck out."

Once Tommy let him go, the man scurried away quickly, not looking back. As he passed through the doors, Arthur and John staggered through, joining Tommy at the bar as he waited for his usual whiskey. "What the fuck was that?" Arthur questioned Tommy, but received no answer to his question.

"You two go and sit down. I'll be joining you soon." The two protested but did as they were told, swaggering over to a table in the back where they recognised some of the other Blinders. John's eyes swept the pub as if he was looking for something, but he was quickly dragged into the conversation.

Tommy turned his attention to Harry, who had set down the glass of whiskey in front of him. "Speaking of your little girl, do you know where she might be?" He took a sip of his whiskey, removing the cap from his head and placing it on the bar.

"I've let her off early for the night, she's had a long day. She's kipping upstairs till she finds a place of her own." Harry nodded to the door behind the bar.

Tommy's eyebrows furrowed slightly but his gaze on Harry was unwavering. "Upstairs?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, she told me she sorted it with you earlier and you said it was fine."

"Well, Harry, I don't recall having that conversation." He tilted his head to one side, before downing the glass of whiskey in one gulp. Fixing his cap atop his head, he made his way around the bar and towards the door leading to the upstairs flat. Harry made no move to stop him, knowing that there was nothing he could do. Florence knew the Shelby's and he trusted her to defend herself; she wouldn't appreciate him stepping in.

Tommy didn't bother knocking, irritated that Florence had gone ahead and settled in without asking him. The room upstairs was a space to be used as a safe house for the Peaky Blinders - if there was merchandise (or people) that needed to be hidden, he would send them here. He was annoyed that she had to be so difficult when he knew full well that she had a warm bed with her father and stepmother.

As soon as the door was ajar, he opened his mouth to speak but stopped quickly. Florence was fast asleep already, with a lamp still burning next to the bed. The bath was still full, one of her bags open on the floor with her belongings strewn around it. She was lying in the single bed, her long, damp, auburn hair spread on the pillow next to her, the blankets pulled up around her waist with her breasts exposed. It looked as though she had crawled straight out of her bath into bed.

Seeing her so exposed, Tommy turned around quickly. It felt odd seeing a girl he had watched grow up in that state and he worried that she was still awake; he wasn't like that, Tommy. He was known for his coldness and violence but never had he overstepped the mark with a woman. Florence stirred at the disturbance of the door opening but only turned onto her side, settling back into her slumber.

Tommy took a deep breath and turned his head to gaze at her. God, she really had changed. She had grown into her looks. Her strong jaw and cheekbones meant that she was often mistaken for a boy when she was a child, but he couldn't imagine that happening now – she was a pretty woman, a very pretty woman indeed, and a far cry from how he remembered her when she was just fifteen. She had a scattering of freckles across her nose and a scar under her left eye that was barely noticeable now. Tommy remembered how when she was a child there had been an accident with a cricket ball that had left her with this injury and having to stop a young John from showing the perpetrator who was boss. He let his eyes wander. She had a slim frame, narrow shoulders with protruding collarbones that made her look as if she could do with a meal or two. She wasn't the most voluptuous woman he had seen, but she was something. Something about seeing her there, naked and vulnerable, made him tick. He moved across the room towards the bed, eyes on her face, wary that if she woke now it would make this a very difficult situation for him. He slowly grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it up to her chin, covering her exposed body, not before taking note of the birthmark on her left breast that caught his eye. Reaching over her he turned off the lamp, then made his way back to the open door. Tommy took one last look at the sleeping girl before making his way back to the pub downstairs. Their conversation could wait until tomorrow.

* * *

In spite of anxieties surrounding her in Small Heath, Florence slept surprisingly well, and awoke in a good mood for once, but late. After getting ready with a quick cup of tea and a breakfast of bread and jam, she headed downstairs to see her father. Harry had already opened the pub for the day but there were only a couple of customers, none she really recognised. Giving her father a quick peck on the cheek, she told him she would be with him in a moment as she went and sat by the window of the pub, and began plaiting her long hair. _Too long_, Harry had commented the day before, _Time for it to go, don't you think_. She was aware that times were changing and that it was no longer the fashion for women to sport long locks like hers, but her hair was her pride and joy. She remembered her mum loving her hair; she'd taught her how to French plait it by herself by the time she was five.

Once she was finished, she put on her apron and began taking stock for the day. It was a tedious job but she didn't mind; anything to help her dad. It took Florence a while as she wasn't the best with numbers, and while she counted aloud under her breath, she would often lose her place, quickly becoming frustrated with herself.

"For fuck's sake, Dad, I can't do this anymore." She exhaled, pushing the book into his hands. "What's the point in me doing it if you have to check it's all right afterwards?"

Harry shook his head at his daughter's crude language. "You've got to learn these things, Flo..." He trailed off as he noticed who was standing at the bar. "Afternoon, Tommy. What can I get for you?" Florence turned to the three men, it was the first time she had seen them all together since she'd returned, and they made an intimidating group, to say the least. People kept commenting on how _she _had changed; the war had recreated these men. She could tell from the way they walked around like they owned the place, and how no one dared to look twice at them. They terrified people, and it bothered her. She remembered them as three gentle boys who had been so devoted to her. She and John used to be best friends when they were young, and she remembered Arthur as a beacon of comfort, sneaking her treats and making sure she was okay whenever she cried. And Tommy. He was just Tommy to her. He was always there.

"Whiskey. Bring the bottle." Tommy replied, his eyes on Florence. He turned quickly, heading to the snug next to the bar with Arthur trailing behind him. John remained, and she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head as she turned to grab the bottle of whiskey and three glasses. "Flo, I..." He started but was interrupted by Arthur calling him over to the snug. Florence wasn't far behind him.

She placed the bottle and glasses down on the table and turned to leave before Tommy's voice stopped her. "Sit down, Florence. I've been wanting to have a little chat with you."

Florence looked around at the three of them, and huffing, took a seat, with John on her left and Tommy and Arthur opposite her. "What is it, then? Wanted to continue your little interrogation, did you?" She goaded him, remembering how much their conversation yesterday had wound her up.

"You know what I really don't like, Florence? I really don't like liars. And you've been telling some lies recently, haven't you?" Florence stayed silent, but kept her eyes on him, unwavering. She refused to be intimidated, she wouldn't back down that easily.

"You've been telling lies, concerning me. To your own dad." This time Tommy waited for a response.

"I told him that for his own peace of mind. I don't need _your_ permission to stay on _my_ dad's property. So why don't you all just mind your own business, yeah?" She nodded, flashing them a sarcastic smile before standing up to leave. As she opened the door, a hand over her shoulder pushed it shut. When she turned Tommy was close to her, in her face, grabbing her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes. John stood up at the violent movement of his brother, but with one look from Arthur, he sat back down again.

"Now, are you listening to me? Hmm? Things have changed. The Garrison is now run by the Peaky Blinders, which means what I say goes. You will not be staying here. You-"

"Do you really think I'm scared of you? What are you going to do if I misbehave? Cut me? I know for a fact that none of you would dare lay a finger on me. So, don't even try to intimidate me. If I leave here, I'll leave of my own accord." Florence roughly pulled his hand from her face and slipped out of the door before anyone could stop her.

* * *

Florence was leaning against a barrel, trying to get her breath back from the confrontation with Tommy when she heard the door to the back room open behind her and John slipped in and approached her.

"Flo. I just want to talk to you." She didn't reply, so he went on. "I'm sorry about Tommy, he's-"

"You don't need to apologise for him." Her voice shocked him; it was strong, and steady, and cut through the overbearing silence of the room, through his own voice. "Don't. He can apologise himself. Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

Florence had come to terms with bumping into John the previous day. It had been a shock, being confronted with the face that had haunted her for all those years, it almost didn't feel real. Her initial reaction was to lash out – that was what she had learned to do, spending years in London as a single woman. As she looked at him now, she felt calm. This was John. _Her _John.

She watched as his eyes turned dark in frustration. "What was that yesterday? I don't hear from you for years and then that- that was bang out of order, that was."

Her face softened, and she took a step towards him. "John, I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting to just bump into you in the street. I was shocked", she reached out and placed a hand on his arm, "I was shocked."

"Well, I think we've got some catching up to do, don't you?" A small smile broke his expression as he stepped forwards quickly, collecting her into an embrace. He was more solid than she remembered, feeling the bulk of muscle as she held him, but his touch was still soft when he held her, one arm wrapped around her waist and a hand in her hair. He held her for longer than necessary, he couldn't believe that she was here. He had convinced himself that Florence had gone for good after she didn't even come back to visit her father, but now she was here, in his arms, and he didn't want to let go.

But she pulled away, shrugging him off and heading for the door. "I have to work to do, but I'll come and find you later." With that, she was gone.

* * *

**Hi, thank you so much for reading! This is my first time writing something like this, so I would appreciate any and all constructive criticism or feedback if anyone has time to give it! Hope you're enjoying so far - there's lots more to come x**


	3. Part 3

Florence didn't get a chance to go and find John that day, nor the day following. Harry had offered her a day off to get the flat upstairs sorted, and with that John slipped from her mind as she spent hours scrubbing and unpacking the few belongings she had. She paid no mind to what Tommy Shelby had said to her; this was her new home now and there wasn't much he could do about it as far as she was concerned. She liked to think that she had lost some of the frustrating stubbornness she had possessed as a teenager, but unfortunately that wasn't the case - Florence was impossible and had gotten fiercer with maturity. She scrubbed that flat like she hadn't scrubbed before, and within a couple of days, it was as good as new, the safe haven she needed.

Her father had informed her that morning of the goings-on of Small Heath that she had missed. A man named Danny Whizzbang had 'accidentally' killed an Italian, and had paid the price for it, and upon setting out onto the streets she noticed the dark cloud that encompassed the place in which she had grown up. Florence only had one place to visit that morning, and that was the church. She wasn't religious, but it had become a ritual of hers to visit a place of God once a week and light candles for those she had lost. It was something that brought her comfort and helped her make sense of the things that had happened in her life that she felt bitter about.

Florence entered the church; it was dark and cold but peaceful. It felt so far from Small Heath despite being in the heart of it. She took a moment to sit, breathe, think before standing up to light her candles, just two. She was so caught in her moment of clarity that she didn't notice the woman that had settled behind her in the pews.

"Florence. Who's the second candle for?"

Florence had been close with Polly growing up, she had become something of a mother figure to her after her own mother died. Polly had tried her best to guide the stubborn girl, but unfortunately, it hadn't been enough. Polly hadn't expected to see her back so soon. She had an inkling of what the girl had been up to in the past years, rumours she had heard, but she didn't know anything for certain, that was until she saw the girl in front of her. She had always been slight, small-framed with narrow hips - now there was a woman standing in front of Polly. Florence turned and despite the dim light, Polly could see her eyes and more importantly the pain behind them. Upon locking eyes with her, a small smile graced Florence's lips.

"None of your business." She let out a small chuckle as she said so, wanting there to be no animosity between them, but not being in the mood to discuss her deepest, darkest secrets.

Polly stood up. "Come here, then. Let me look at you." Her words echoed around the church, as Florence stepped forward. She stood there for a moment before embracing the older woman. Being around Polly reminded her of the safety she had felt as a child when she was welcomed into the Shelby household. The two sat down.

"I would have come and said hello, but I thought you would've forgotten me after all this time. And your damned nephews haven't exactly welcomed me home with open arms."

"Forget about Tommy. Don't take what he says to heart, he's just suspicious of anyone new around here, typical territorial man. France ruined him…" Polly trailed off at the sound of the doors opening and footsteps approaching them.

A stout man in a bowler hat with a certain weakness about him wandered to the altar of the church, seemingly looking for something. Polly glared at him, breathing sharply through her nose.

"Florence. Why don't you meet me at the house later? We'll have some tea. And you can have that chat with John he's not stopped going on about." She whispered, not taking her eyes off the strange man that had distracted her. Florence gave her a quick nod and stood up, gathering her things and leaving the church quickly. She knew to pick her times when to be defiant, and this wasn't one of them. She trusted and admired Polly and her strength, and knew better than to cross her. Still, Florence was intrigued by the man that had aroused such suspicion, but she had a feeling she would find out all about him soon enough.

* * *

And so Florence found herself on the doorstep of number six, Watery Lane, that evening - her mind raced back to when she was just a child and would come knocking for Ada and John to play. She raised her hand to knock but before she had a chance the door was flung open, and she was almost knocked to the ground. Tommy was on the war path and didn't stop to say hello, and the sight of him made Florence rage at the thought of their last interaction.

"Good evening to you, too! Fucking bastard…" Florence trailed off as she watched Tommy stop, turn on his heel and walk towards her, not stopping until their noses were almost touching.

"You pull another stunt like you did in The Garrison-"

"Are you serious? You're going to threaten me _again_? Here I was thinking I deserved an apology, but you're clearly not man enough to admit when you're in the wrong. Excuse me." She slid out from in front of him and headed towards the door, which was still wide open. Her long hair whipped around as she gave him one last look that could kill, before slamming the door shut.

Polly was already there to greet her. "Sit down, Flo. I'll make us some tea. I heard all of that, by the way, you be careful with him."

"Can't help it, Pol. I refuse to be put in my place by a man. It's that simple."

"It's not though, is it love? You'll get yourself beaten or worse. You have to be tactical about it…"

And with that, it was like no time had passed, aside from the fact that Florence was all grown up. They discussed everything that happened in Small Heath before, during and after the war, but Polly noticed how Florence was quick to avoid any of the deeper questions she had about her time in London. The secretiveness of it made Polly uneasy, but she didn't push it; she was sure the truth would come out sooner or later.

"Our John was devastated when he found out you'd gone, you know. He loved you. Hell knows, he still does." Polly shook her head as she stood up to collect the teacups. She could remember the day of Florence's disappearance clearly, as John had been so angry after discovering she had gone away that he had come home and destroyed the kitchen crockery. She had found him later in his room, in tears.

"I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said I loved him too. But I really did. I just needed to get away, and I didn't plan to be away for long. A year at most, but then the war started, and it would have been too much, coming back and him not being here." Florence gave her a sad smile as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The two women heard the commotion outside the door before it had even opened, and in they came, Arthur, Tommy and John. Arthur gave her a smile as he and Tommy passed her on their way into the back room. She wasn't shocked by Tommy giving her the cold shoulder; she didn't feel like causing a scene in front of everyone either. That left John, standing there in the doorway, staring at her with a blank expression. He cleared his throat as his gaze moved to the floor, and Polly also slipped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.

"I think I've got some explaining to do… are you going to sit down?" Florence's eyes bore up at him, large and round, reminding him of the innocence of times past and what had changed. Since they had last met he had killed more men than he could remember; there was no going back to those times and it angered him.

"You know what, yeah you have. Because I've been thinking about it, these past couple of days, and imagine if I'd done that to you? Just run off without saying a word _for years_. I'd never have done that to you, you know." By now John was pacing, rubbing his face in his hands, and it broke Florence's heart to think of how much she hurt him.

"I'm really sorry. I know that's not going to make up for it but just know that I am. I never wanted to hurt you, it's just… you know, things were going wrong for me, I lost my head a bit before I left and I needed to sort it, so that's why I went to London, to sort my head out." Her eyes followed him, but he wouldn't look at her. She knew that this conversation had been playing on his mind, and he'd been planning what he was going to say, but it had all gone out of the window now. John was never great with words. He finally turned to look at her, nostrils flared, eyes wide.

"Sort your head out? Sort your fucking head out? Do you think I'm stupid, Flo? I know full well you could have sorted your head out here in Birmingham, so don't give me that shit. You and I both know there was something more going on than that." He raised his voice and the unfamiliarity of an angry John startled her. Florence stood up and approached him, she wasn't about to let him speak to her that way and not stand her ground.

"I don't know what you mean, John. It was the drink, and the misbehaving. My dad couldn't cope with me anymore, so he sent me away." She searched his eyes for something, anything, but in that moment they seemed so unfamiliar to her. He turned away from her again, raising his voice further. She knew in the other room they were probably listening in.

"And you just let him send you away, did you? Because I know full well you wouldn't have gone without a fight, you would have been straight over here, trying to hide from him or something." John threw his arms up in frustration and it was at that moment that Florence knew he wouldn't back down. Gone were the days when she just had to bat her eyelids at him to get her own way. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, trying to stay calm.

"Can't we just forget about it? I've come back here for a fresh start, I want to forget about everything that's gone on in the past-"

"You think I can just forget? I thought I was done with you, Flo, I spent a year convincing myself that you were nothing. But then I went to France, and the thought of never being able to see you again one last time, that in itself nearly fucking killed me." Taken aback by his outburst, Florence just stared at him. The war had brought him more heartache than expected, because of her. She truly believed that John would move on, maybe even be married and have a couple of kids by the time she came back to Small Heath, but knowing that he had held onto the idea of her for so long broke her. She reached out and took one of his clenched fists, his hand relaxing into hers, and she watched for a moment as his breathing slowed.

"John, I've said I'm sorry. What more do you want me to do?" She tilted her head to look into his eyes - his anger had been replaced with sadness. She brought her free hand up to cup his cheek, stroking the curve of his cheekbone with her thumb, feeling him lean into her touch. He opened his mouth to speak, his voice a whisper in comparison to before.

"Fuck off. I don't know who you are anymore." His harsh words didn't stop him from bringing her closer, their foreheads touching, before sinking into an embrace, both his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he sank back into the chair behind him.

"You're forgetting that I don't know who you are now either. I want to know you though, of course I do. You're one of my oldest friends…" Florence pressed a kiss to the top of his head, running her fingers through his hair.

He glanced up at her. "I just can't believe you're really here."


End file.
